Batboys Oneshots
by bookworm437341
Summary: A series of one shots that I come up with on the fly. Strictly fluff. Not updated regularly.
1. Chapter 1

**All characters belong to their respective companies**

Damian shot upright in his bed, sweat dripping down his face and back, he felt clammy and uneasy. He began to try an even his breathing.

_Remain calm, remain in control._

He repeated those words over and over again.

They helped. Slightly.

Damian hated nightmares. He'd seen the worst of humanity several times over and it never made him even blink. He had grown too accustomed to it. Heads on stakes around a satanic ritual symbol? Seen it. Disembowelment? Been there, dealt with it. Dozens of people trapped in literal cages? Not exactly pleasant to see but yeah that too.

He believed with everything in him that he wasn't afraid of anything. Fear was too crippling of an emotion to feel. He didn't have time, no, he didn't have room for such an emotion.

But his brain somehow still conjured up things that made Damian want to cower under his bed.

Not that he would ever do such a thing. Anything that wishes to challenge him will face the consequences that come with it.

He couldn't shake the chills racing down his spine causing him to shiver uncontrollably.

_Water. Water will help._

Damian turned the faucet on, splashing cool water on his face to help ground him.

That helped. A lot.

He still felt tired. Completely exhausted. It'd been a long week. This was the first night in ten days that he hadn't gone on patrol. That his Father had forced him to take off and rest. He'd gone longer. His father was going longer.

No doubt Grayson or Pennyworth would be having words with him the next night if this continued.

He hadn't gone out alone. He'd taken Drake with him. Damian wasn't sure why Drake had been there in the first place other than perhaps Grayson was around again.

Grayson had been gone for four months. He'd kept in touch annoyingly letting Damian know what he'd been up to. Four months, off world, with the Titans, away from him.

It had been concerning at first. Grayson hadn't contacted for almost three weeks initially. Damian wouldn't admit to it, but it had concerned him. Apparently they'd simply been in a dark spot for that duration of time. Meaning Damian had worried for nothing. The jerk.

He stifled a yawn as he looked to his bed. It looked darker than normal.

Damian scowled at his thoughts. _Don't be irrational_.

But he didn't move nonetheless.

Grayson's voice filled his head. _You're gonna kill yourself if you don't get some rest._

Damian bit his lip. He glanced at his door and scowled again.

He knew Grayson wouldn't care. He never did but Damian felt he should. How could he be okay with such childish actions? So relaxed and willing? He always saw right through him and would wait Damian out until the truth spilled from his lips. He always listened and never seemed to outwardly judge.

Damian wasn't sure where Grayson had acquired such a skill set other than the idea that is was just naturally engraved in him to be empathetic.

He put his chin up and marched out of his room and down the hall.

He hesitated outside of Grayson's door.

Father had asked him if he was going to go home. He'd simply told him he had 'some business' to attend to in Gotham' and that he would return home afterwards.

Damian cautiously opened the door not bothering to knock. It would be futile. He was asleep.

He slipped inside, silently closing the door behind him.

Grayson slept like he hadn't slept in weeks (which was entirely possible). One hand and a good portion of his arm hanging off the bed, the other clenching the blanket he was curled under as if someone would attempt to steal it.

He looked dead to the world as Damian approached him. Like the world could end and he would sleep through it, so when he woke suddenly it startled Damian (startled isn't scaring _Todd_!).

Damian took half a step back as Grayson shot up he looked at Damian with a slightly bewildered look. As if someone had electrocuted him.

Despite not having slept in so long Grayson was a light sleeper. Years of training and experienced had instilled a constant sense of alertness. A need to always be ready. And, although Grayson was easily one of the most laid back of the brood, he was no exception.

A quick flicker in the iris and he knew Grayson had read him.

His expression went from confused to concerned and comforting. His face relaxed. "You good?"

Damian glanced away for half a second before returning to look him in the eye. "I don't want to bother you if you wish to sleep I'll-"

He began to turn towards the door reaching for its handle as Grayson caught his wrist. "No, you wanna talk, so talk"

He pulled Damian towards him slightly. Just enough to get the door from his grasp.

"It's nothing." Damian tells him quickly. "I don't know what came over me."

He made that face. That face that Damian hated with everything in him. A face that wasn't going to let him get away with a quick excuse. Damian had become very familiar with it, and knew Drake and Todd were familiar with it as well. Grayson cared too damn much sometimes.

"It was just a nightmare." Damian tells him quietly, removing his wrist from his grasp.

Grayson nods knowingly. "I get it."

Damian stood unsure, shifting slightly on his feet.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked again shifting himself so he was in more of a sitting position and not looking like he was gonna roll off the bed.

"Scarecrow has been troublesome." Damian debated telling him what had happened. It was likely he already knew but he wasn't sure. Grayson hadn't asked him about it. "I got blasted with a new strain of the fear toxin a few days ago. But I am fine." He added quickly as he could see Grayson's eyebrows crease with worry.

"It still messing with you?"

"I suppose."

"Yeah," He breathed out his face filled with understanding. "fear toxin is the worst. It's a bitch to get over. I remember the first time I got hit with it. It was… it took awhile for me to be able to sleep at night. The whole night."

"I've been infected before." Damian snaps.

"I know that. I was there. It doesn't make it any easier sometimes." Grayson replies calmly, his tone unchanged.

He looked just as exhausted as Damian felt.

Grayson's eyes search his face as if looking for other things to worry about. He worried to damn much too.

"Do you wanna stay?" He asked him easily.

Damian made a face as a reply.

Grayson laughed. "Sometimes it's easier. I won't tell anyone."

He considered his options. Damian knew what he'd prefer, but was also aware that nowhere was safe here. Drake was likely back from patrol and may want to talk with Grayson, a debrief of sorts, and Todd was also here for some reason. Damian had tired prying the reasons out of him only to get flicked on the nose and told to 'butt out'.

Damian looked between Grayson and the door.

Grayson watched him do this for a while before exhaling loudly. "Stay if you want, I'm going to go back to sleep."

And with that he flopped back onto the mattress. His face buried in the pillow as he shifted to a more comfortable position beneath the sheets.

Damian really wanted to sleep and knew staying put was going to help keep the nightmares at bay.

He circled the bed and laid on the other side flat on his back as close to the edge as could get without falling off. Grayson didn't move. Damian relaxed slightly.

He could feel sleep beginning to take over his body as he stared at the ceiling.

"Good night Grayson." Damian told him quietly closing his eyes letting sleep overtake him.

"G'night Dami." Could be heard, mumbled through the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**All characters belong to their respective companies**

* * *

Jason crawled through the window of one of his many safe houses. He let the bag drop from his shoulder on to the floor. He took a few steps forward before falling face first onto the sofa. He was sore. Overworked muscles and sleepless nights had caught up with him. He felt he could sleep for a week.

As much as he wanted to stay and sleep he needed to get out of this uniform and take a shower before he did anything else.

He sat up shucking his jacket off and tossing atop a nearby chair as he began to undo the armor on his chest and torso. Removing it with the holster for his many weapons dropping onto the coffee table in front of him. He took off his boots and stood stretching listening to the cracks in his spine before making his way to the bathroom to wash away the layers of grime, dirt, sweat, and blood that had built up the last few weeks.

He stood letting the spray of the water hit his face and sooth his aching muscles.

A clean t-shirt and sweats and he was back to eat something and clean his gear (amazing how much a simple shower can perk someone up). He walked out to his armor gone, replaced with a note.

He snatched the note from the table instantly recognizing the replacement's scrawl.

_You did good work. Get some rest. I'll take care of the armor for you. -RR_

Since when did Tim do stuff like that? Like break into places and steal stuff just so he could clean it. Jason wouldn't call himself a clean freak, and could by no standard, keep his equipment to the same standard Tim kept his despite (or maybe in spite of) his completely chaotic lifestyle.

When it came to gear no one's was in better shape than Tim's. Jason had no idea when he found the time. He wouldn't say his gear was in bad condition and that he didn't take care of it. He just wasn't as meticulous as people like Tim or even Roy.

He remembers how the redhead would spend hours upon hours going through each piece of equipment making sure it was pristine. Of course Roy was equally messy. Maybe that's just how these types of people were.

People who hyper focused on whatever insane task and let normal mundane things like having a clean workspace just slip past them. As if they didn't have time.

Not that Jason minded Tim taking the time to clean his armor. In fact the exact opposite. He appreciated it. A lot. It gave him more time to relax and unwind.

"Alright. I'll just eat something than." Jason told himself before he groaned.

He had no produce of any kind. He'd been gone for so long (in general but also he didn't use this particular safe house very often) that he only had canned goods and boxes of noodles. Things that wouldn't go bad for years.

Jason sighed. _Guess I'll have to make do._

He walked into his kitchen to see a bowl of fruit.

"Tim gave me fruit?"

There was another note attached to the fridge.

Not replacement's awful handwriting. Instead it was the golden boy's neater handwriting (Neater meaning it was legible. Of course Jason would call his own handwriting unintelligible chicken scratch).

_Knew you were coming back today, so I got you some food. Alfred insisted I bring by the leftovers in the fridge. Enjoy your night off. -N_

Okay this is weird.

Why were his sort of brothers doing stuff for him?

They never did stuff like this. They had to be up to something. Whenever he got back from whatever mission he'd been on it was silent and uneventful.

Cautiously Jason opened the door to the fridge. Just as Dick said there were three containers of food. He inspected it. It looked untampered with. There were other contents. Milk, eggs, cheese, vegetables. Normally when Jason left places like this for long periods of time, he'd give the food away to people in the building that he knew needed it. He always felt bad for wasting it, knowing it would just go bad before he had a chance to get to it.

He knew he'd left his cupboards bare. On purpose. Now they were full so he could stay for the couple of weeks he'd been planning on. There was bread and other things that he would never just keep here.

Jason grabbed one of the containers Alfred had set aside for him. He trusted Alfred. Whenever they saw each other Jason never left empty handed. While he never did what Tim and Dick do and just not make normal meals (Jason will admit Dick is a whole hell of a lot better than Tim about it) Alfred still made sure Jason had something.

It was also greatly appreciated but also confused him. Everyone was going way out of there way for this safe house to do these weird tasks for him. Cleaning his gear and getting him groceries. All things he was more than capable of doing himself, and was even planning on doing himself.

After heating the dish up Jason became ravenous. Like he hadn't eaten in a week. In reality he just hadn't really had a good meal in a while. Before he could blink the food was gone.

_Alfred would be disappointed._ Jason thought to himself for the lack of manners.

He left his dishes in the sink, rinsing them off, planning of actually cleaning them the next day. That is unless someone else got the bright idea to break in and wash his dishes.

Jason went to grab his bag and hall it back to the bedroom when he realized it was also gone.

"What. The. Hell?!"

He stalked back to the bedroom. The bag rested on top of the dresser, empty. His burner resting on the edge. He saw his jacket on a hanger hanging from the door knob. He pulled a random drawer open to see his items neatly tucked away.

He glanced at his bed and saw a couple wrapped packages.

He was beyond confused now. Whoever had left them had wrapped them in brown paper keeping it closed with burlap twine.

Jason grabbed the burner, dialed the number and waited for the other line to pick up.

'_Hey Jason, what's going on?_' Dick answered, his tone relaxed.

"What the hell are you trying to pull?" Jason asked him, his tone slightly accusatory.

'_Hmmm?_'

"You heard me Dickhead what's going on? You're leaving me food, Tim stole my armor, someone put all my stuff away. What you trying to pull?"

'_Can't people do nice things for you?_'

"It's weird when it's all at once like this."

He heard Dick sigh. '_Have you looked a calendar recently?_'

"Yeah, it's the twenty-sixth. Woopty freakin do."

Dick didn't respond. But Jason could practically see his face. Dick was waiting for him to catch on to something.

'_Yeah, the twenty-sixth._"

Jason nodded in agreement. "Also, what's with these packages on my bed?"

'_Seriously?_'

"What? You just decided some random Tuesday you guys were gonna break into my-" realization hit Jason. "Tomorrow's the twenty-seventh."

'_Yeah it is isn't it?_'

Jason sucked in a breath. "Well now I feel like an asshole."

Dick chuckled lightly. '_Barbara picked them out. I just dropped them off. I only know what one of them is._'

"Thanks. You didn't have to."

'_I know, but we did nonetheless._' He sounded almost proud of himself.

"Are you doing anything else?"

'_I didn't plan anything. So it's up to you. I'm down if you wanna do anything. I'm sure I can convince some of the others. Oh and Cass is expecting you to stop by and read them some time._'

"Okay, I'll head out there soon."

'_Alright, well I guess I'll see you at some point. Happy Birthday._'

And with that Jason hung up the phone and dropped it on the bed.

He sucked in a breath before picking up one of the parcels. Three books.

_The Stranger, The Plague, _and _Swann's Way._ Odd choices but intriguing. Barbara often recommended books she'd finished recently. She must've gotten into french literature.

The next package was more surprising. A hatchet and a matching machete.

He examined the blade. Pristine. He blew quickly against the sharp edge listening to the sound of the air being cut across it. Both made to sit discreetly on his belt.

Jason already had both weapons.

He shot Tim a text.

_I am never seeing my machete again. Am I?_

The response was almost immediate.

_No._


End file.
